


I don't want to wake up from this tonight

by Hexes



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blasphemy, Blood, First Time, Getting Together, Gore, I was drunk writing part of this, Last Time, Lyrics as dialogue, M/M, Murder Suicide, idiots in deadly love, lavender prose, someone bring me another beer, til death do us part - literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Hannibal and Will consummate their love in death.Un-beta'd
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	I don't want to wake up from this tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lana Del Rey's Dark Paradise: "I don't want to wake up from this tonight," And Billie Eilish's Ocean Eyes, "Burning cities and napalm skies,"  
> And beer... am I the only person that writes drunk? Isn't there an Ernest Hemingway quote, "write drunk, edit sober"?  
> Or is it just that I share too much (tag too much)? I've been told I share too much, even when it's not lewd, crude, or unkind...  
> Anyway, I'm exceedingly lonely (lol pandemic), and very mildly buzzed: We should have a Discord where we consume intoxicants and write fan fic. Or at least blather on about headcanons or something

Mutually assured destruction. The broken, the bloody, their daughter, their friends and lovers. So much pain and betrayal. And so, so MUCH love. It was clearly pathological. The way they hurt each other, constantly writhing and rending. _Love shouldn't hurt_ , Will reasons with himself. 

But now, his eyes resting on the powerful form of the man in front of him, he breathes in the scent of love and anguish, he can't help but wonder. That, just maybe, love _should_ hurt and they were the only two beings in existence that truly understood that. 

Maybe, that's why Will is standing here, crying, swimming in a sweater he'd stolen from Hannibal years earlier, his muddy boots left politely by door. And Hannibal is standing just over there, the pale gold sunlight making his mahogany eyes glow as they swim with tears. They can only ever love each other. Only ever hurt each other. And the only way to prevent more people being hurt, is... well...

Mutually assured destruction. 

"I can't," he starts, pauses, sucks in a shaky breath, "I can't keep doing this..." Will drops his gaze, staring, now, at Hannibal's elegant slippers, wishing for house shoes his own, kept here, with this beautiful, dangerous man. "I can't keep hurting you, hurting myself, but I don't know how to stop." His tears are bitter where they seep into his mouth. This wasn't simple pain. It was torture, being separated from the other half of his soul, the complement to his mind, the completion of his heart. "I can't," Will pleads, shuffling forward. 

"I understand, dear William," Hannibal leans forward, eyes glinting with grief and devotion. "I find..." Hannibal sighs, "I find that I cannot do this any longer, myself." He draws himself up, facing Will fully, heart bared and raw and bleeding, "I love you, truly."

And Will? Will breaks. He had suspected for so long that Hannibal was not merely obsessed with him, but to hear it said aloud, naked and vibrating in the air around them, dusty as it was, in this stuffy house? It's just as excruciating as it is exhilarating. 

"I love you, too," Will breathes, teetering forward, his mind burning, cheeks flushing. "I don't know how to let you go, I can't keep you close, I can't- can't..." He stumbles into Hannibal, grasping at his shoulder, his waist, messing up the delicate layers of his hair, ghosts fingers over the man's beautiful, severe mouth. 

"I know, my darling boy," Hannibal smiles, a rueful, thin thing, pained and accepting. He leans down, brushes a loving kiss over Will's riotous curls, "my belovèd," he brought his hand to Will's chin, dangerous fingers curling to lift Will's face to his own. "I cannot bear to be apart from you, nor can I be with you. I cannot treat you with the reverence you so richly deserve." Hannibal sounded heartbroken at the admission, revealing his needs and flaws. He feathers a kiss over Will's full lips, a more genuine smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. 

"We could end it, tonight. Just the two of us. Almost polite," Hannibal brushes a tear away from Will's glittering eye, entirely besotted, yet so utterly incapable of controlling his need to destroy. Will smiles up, watery and infatuated. He knows this can only end in blood; the tears already flowing. 

"I don't want to wake up from this tonight," Will breathes it against Hannibal's lips, a promise and a plea. Mutually assured destruction. 

"I can deny you neither my love, nor my rage." There's a brief moment where Will considers that he may have miscalculated, erred in his read of the other man. But no, Hannibal is merely leading him to the bedroom, inquiring fingers plucking at hems and buttons, lips breathing words of reverence whenever they touch skin. Will's sweater winds up caught haphazardly on the banister as they stumble and kiss their way to the bedroom. 

The room is opulent, of course. But, Will barely spares a thought to the beautiful silk bedclothes, too busy trying to overcome Hannibal's cufflinks. Strip away the armour, the pageantry, reveal the vicious, slavering beast beneath. A beautiful beast, certainly. Littered with scars, muscles sleek and powerful, downy, silvering hair dashed across Hannibal's chest, down this stomach, the trail truncated by those damnable trousers. God, he wants to get under those damn trousers. 

Will hisses, losing his patience for all these absurd layers, tearing at buttons and plackets. Hannibal soothes a soft sound into Will's hair, toeing out of his slippers and sliding off his belt. He will always bow to his love, his darling William. 

"Patience, my dearest," Hannibal counsels, though he's slavering for blood, slick, hot, heavy-scented, sweat and pleasure, "is a virtue," he breathes into the hollow of Will's shoulder, a thought away from the subclavian artery, thrumming with life and lust. He wants to feel the spray, wet and heady against his face, his tongue, Will bleeding out, coming, desperate and dying beneath his touch. What transcendence would it be, to feel their blood, their seed mix and run, to pool around them as they Become, as they are Undone? Hannibal shapes his lips in supplication, his body in veneration. Will's is the only altar at which he will worship. He urges Will to turn, and the beautiful being does so, arching against him. 

"I love you," is whispered against skin, "I need you," is breathed against Will's nape, "I can't be without you," into the swale of a hip bone, as soft lips ghost over straining flesh, "we can never part," Hannibal swears, his tongue tracing along the furled flesh of Will's quivering taint, needy and unabashed, licking his way in, feasting as Will shrieks silently, his voice lost to adulation and damnation. Hannibal feels a release in his soul, a gentle breaking dawn of purpose. 

"Leave with me, tonight," Hannibal implores, "be one with me, that we shall never part," and he wishes fervently, that he had plead his case many murders ago, "I can live neither with, nor apart from you," and the silvery flash of a blade makes him pause. Contemplate the idea that he has miscalculated, misjudged his lover. But, no. Of course not. The blade comes to rest beside them, a brilliant gleam of promise. Hannibal wraps his arms around Will's shuddering torso, stroking reverently against nipples, throat, and kiss-bitten lips.

"I love you, too," Will promises into the humid air, he sounds so broken by it. This. Them. His scars are fire when Hannibal skates fingers across them. He is their creator, their tormentor. He brushes a kiss to Hannibal's fingers, long and deadly, elegant. "Where you go, I will follow." He sounds so sure, staunch in his conviction, and Hannibal preens to bear the weight of such a burden. 

Hannibal smiles, his fingers applied to the task of preparing his lover. Pleased to find the way opening easily to him, he purrs into full flesh of Will's buttocks, thinking of Will, opening himself, tumbling less fortunate lovers - those he had cast aside to be with Hannibal, now. Fantasises of how succulent Will's meat would be - roasted to perfection - trickled through his thoughts. Hannibal groaned, so utterly in love with his beautiful companion.

"You enchant me," he confesses, "bewitch me with your mind, your words, your darkness..." He trails away, slipping another finger inside the soft, snug heat of Will's body. Curling his fingers down, he grins victoriously at the answering groan when Hannibal finds his prostate. Will huffs impatiently, rocking back against Hannibal's uncharacteristically gentle touch, growling when Hannibal retreats, keeping his invasion feather-light. 

"Hurry," Will hisses, his ocean eyes baleful over his shoulder. Hannibal smiles indulgently, though it quickly turns wicked, slipping another finger into his lover. 

"Patience, my darling," he curls his fingers slowly, rubbing gently. "We have waited so long to be here, together." He takes Will's testy sniffing as his uneasy acquiescence. He's proven wrong, of course.

"That just means we're overdue, Hannibal." Will disengages himself, rolling onto his back, pulling at Hannibal's shoulders, "means you've made me wait too long," he skates his palms up the length of Hannibal's sides, "and it's very rude to keep a guest waiting."

"You are so much more than a guest," Hannibal assures, "you have made a home for yourself in my soul as no other has before you." Hannibal brushes a sweet kiss along Will's brilliant lips, drowning in his eyes. "You are the only diety to whom I will supplicate myself," he positions himself, beginning to sink to the welcoming heat of Will's body, "you terrify me, my darling." Will smiles, sharp and vicious, tempestuous thing that he is, though he keeps his thoughts to himself, instead raising his legs to pull Hannibal deeper. 

"Pay me homage," Will purrs, his eyes falling closed, fingers brushing lovingly along the blade beside them, "I'll have your blood," he breaks off in a gasp, "your diamond mind." And Hannibal has never heard so sweet a demand. Anything. He would give anything. He _will_ give everything. 

So many times Hannibal has imagined their coupling, his mind ablaze with the possibilities, his skin crawling with phantom touch, but nothing, no one, could ever compare to the reality. The scent of sweat and need, the promise of blood. Of forever. Will's soft sounds of pleasure, the way he whispers his love into the crook of Hannibal's neck, holding him close. Too close for Hannibal to ravage the beautiful man as he had thought to do, but so much better for it. Curled together, rolling like castaways on the tide. It's a fitting culmination of their lives and love. 

Too soon, Hannibal feels his climax approaching. He wants this moment to extend to the very reaches of the universe, to contract in upon itself and swallow itself whole. He wants even more to taste the very life of his darling, his Will. His until the end of existence.

"My belovèd," he sighs, "how you undo me," Hannibal leans back, easily breaking the soft hold Will had put against him. He looks Will in the eye, basks in the adulation and ease readily apparent in the other man's face. Hannibal presses a knife into Will's hand. 

The hilt is sumptuous, the grip is mahogany, the blade, guard and pommel forged in typhoon Damascus. He'd brought it with him through his life, and it seemed fitting, now, that it would be with him at the end. The first kiss of the knife's edge to his flesh, caressing his subclavian artery, brings Hannibal to heights of pleasure he'd never thought possible, a transcendent joy that completely overwhelms any pain he might feel, and he kisses Will's glistening lips in supplication.

Hannibal has, in his own hand, a blade forged in the fireball Damascus style, one he'd had created as a companion to the first, when he'd met Will. To the point of meeting the beautiful man below him, he'd thought of himself as a watery beast, a creature born of the tumult that the sea promises. When confronted with the deep, roiling mind of his darling William, he realised that he was a being of fire. Necessary to reshape those around him, to forge them anew. To consume, and destroy. To nourish. 

Hannibal relishes the way Will's fingers curve around the grip, elegant and sure from years of gutting fish. The thought of Will's deftness with a knife, of cold steel plunging into flesh, undoes him and he gasps through the first shudders of his climax, running the hungry blade against Will's chest. The well of crimson shocks him to his very core and he dives to sample the nectar, the touch of it against his tongue blanking his mind and siezing his muscles. 

"My belovèd," he gasps, feeling Will's knife bite into his flesh again, "you honour me." And such honour he had never imagined, to feel Will's body rolling against his own, the sweet brine of blood on his tongue, the throbbing of Will's heartbeat. 

Through the haze of orgasm and blood loss, he can barely keep his eyes open, on the object of his desire and obsession. The aching throb of blood as it wells in time with their heartbeats, slowly draining them of the pain of this existence. Pooling around them like molten gold, heady and beautiful. 

"I love you, my sweet William," Hannibal swears, his head swimming, and vision darkening. 

"And I love you too, my darlin' Hannibal." Will's voice is soft around the edges, or perhaps it is Hannibal's hearing. It matters not, in the end. 

They are together now. In perpetuity. Beyond the reach of those that would tear them asunder, beyond even the savagery that they might visit upon each other. As one.


End file.
